Dotty LaFou

About Dotty LaFou

Dorotéa “Dotty” LaFou began her professional life as a meter maid in Surfers Paradise where she helped motorists top up their parking meters so they could avoid being fined. This marked the beginning of a life dedicated to helping others. An advice columnist extraordinaire, she cares deeply and personally about her darling readers and is here to assist you to sort out any problems you may have, no matter how teensy they might be. If you have a question for Dotty, email [email protected] and put “Ask Dotty” in the subject line.

Ask Dotty: How do I get my husband back from Fortnite?

Dotty LaFou is here to solve your suburban squabbles. This week, she faces off with a marriage under serious danger from Fortnite.



Dear Dotty,

My 36-year-old husband’s addiction to an online game called Fortnite is ruining my life. He plays it the minute he gets home from work until the small hours and is so engrossed he misses the kids’ mealtimes, bath times and bedtimes. I’ve even heard him yelling at the laptop screen addressing a 10-year-old boy who’d defeated him. It’s just not right! As well, his obsession with this stupid game has stripped me of any sexual desire for him. I’m a young woman at my peak and should be enjoying an active sex life, but it’s not happening. What can I do?



Dear Grace,

What a dreadful pickle you’re in, darling. Here you are: gorgeous, vibrant and desirous of spousal intimacy and there he is: juvenile, lumpish and unattractive. Normally this doesn’t happen till after 25 or 30 years of marriage, so you’re way ahead of schedule.

I confess I had to ask my teenage nephew Byron about Fortnite, but he speaks so rapidly it was hard to make sense of much that came out of his mouth, although I distinctly heard the phrases “grenade launcher” and “dance moves” in the one sentence, which was rather jarring, but of course you’d have heard such juxtapositions yourself no doubt, especially considering your husband has a tendency to loudly verbalise at virtual strangers. Oh ha, did you see what I did then darling? It was inspired – I made a double pun with the word “virtual” and hadn’t even planned it. All that latent wit, who knew? But I digress.

Hobbies can be wonderful, but obsession? No. A few years back my insufferable sister-in-law Berenice was fixated on golf and so incredibly competitive was she that she drove everyone away. She’d lower her score by not counting air swings and pushing her ball into the hole with her club, and like your husband would shout at people whose scores were better than hers. Heavens, one day at a charity event, Berenice (who’s always suffered delusions of grandeur) screamed at Karrie Webb of all people, calling her a cheat! It made the front page of the Lavender Bay Larrikin, so it was a double blow to Berenice who was horrified at being associated with such a low-brow publication. Still, I don’t believe it affected her sex life with her husband, the ever-patient Ernest. Now I think of it, Ernest did much of the child-rearing because Berenice spent all her time climbing the social ladder hoping to wangle invitations to A-list events, utterly neglecting little Tristan and Isolde. So I do feel for your tots, darling, the poor sweet poppets whose father is as juvenile as they are.

Now regarding the nitty-gritty of your problem, I’ve been thinking about those grenade launchers, darling Grace…but in a metaphorical sense, you know like putting a rocket up someone, a somewhat phallic notion perhaps. And that’s given me a brilliant idea.

Also on The Big Smoke

First off, once the children have gone to bed, play some dreamy romantic music. Then suggest some role-play – games appeal to your lunkhead spouse – and it will be good for you too darling. You can be Whitney Houston from The Bodyguard, beautiful and sultry, and he can be Kevin Costner, seriously smoldering. All that pent-up sexual tension will hopefully work a treat. If Kevin Costner doesn’t do it for you, imagine your spouse as Cobalt Commando. I just Googled him – he’s a Fortnite character who looks, to use a word favoured by my daughter Clémence, “ripped”. Mind you, if she’s referring to her husband Dennis, “ripped” could mean anything, but I’m being very disciplined and I will not talk about Dennis while I’m focusing on you, dearest Grace.

My advice is to fantasise so your own libido will return. You needn’t worry about his because men don’t appear to have problems with this sort of thing. They’re always up for it if you’ll pardon the pun, no matter the time of day or how inappropriate the situation. I could tell you a few stories about my darling late husband Edouardo but for some reason my editor keeps telling me to keep my answers short. I can’t imagine why because these pearls of wisdom are so helpful to so many.

Intelligence is a great turn-on for women (I’d take Neil deGrasse Tyson over David Beckham any day) but your husband is currently a lump of mindless manflesh, so I advise you to summon all your creative powers and imagine he has Brian Cox’s brain, George Clooney’s sparkling charm and Chris Hemsworth’s, well, Chris Hemsworth’s anything really. Take it further: imagine your husband’s come-hither eyes are watching your every move, that he’s gazing at you with unbridled ardour, a lascivious smile on his full lips, a lock of his thick black hair falling suggestively over one eye. Imagine he’s a sensual amorous passionate hunk oozing with lust just for you, and that his muscled, fine-tuned body, sleek as a leopard and just as magnificent, is eager for hours of passion in your longing arms. My my, is it getting hot in here? Oh yes, this is sure to do the trick.

Glad to have been of help. Ta ta for now.


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